


Unpleasant Hands

by msbt



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Anal Sex, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbt/pseuds/msbt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl gets injured on a run and reluctantly lets Pete examine his injury. He comes to realize how nasty the man is, just like his old man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpleasant Hands

It was no big deal at first. Then Aaron, fussing over such a trivial injury, never letting him take care of himself, and even threatening to ask Rick to 'have a talk' with him. God, Daryl was absolutely annoyed at his fellow recruiter knowing how much of effect Rick had on him. He could take care of himself, he'd had worse, _much_ worse, and didn't need to be babied at all.

"Don't pout Daryl, you need to get the injury looked at by a doctor or you could cause an infection."

"Ain't pouting," he scowled, gnawing at his thumb nail. There was a stinging pain in his shoulder blade area and he could feel blood soaking his shirt and vest. The injury was not life-threatening, he knew that, but also knew Aaron was right.

The streets of Alexandria were dark and empty as the dusk descended into the night. Aaron led while he followed, as reluctantly as ever, still covered in dirt, his hand clenching his crossbow tight. They went up to the front door of one of the houses and Aaron knocked. Soon, a blonde woman opened the door, smiling at him. "Hi."

"Hi Jessie, is Pete home?"

"Yeah, come in."

A questioning glance she cast at Daryl made him feel nervous as they entered the house. Her existence itself was enough that he got butterflies in his stomach because of her intimacy with Rick, though Daryl would never admit his jealousy. Thankfully Aaron talked to her about his injury so he didn't need to look at her in the eyes. Instead he darted his gaze around the neat living room, curious and uncomfortable in an unfamiliar house, and it caused him to bump into a much taller man who came in the room.

Jerking back, Daryl whipped his head up and stared at the man with wide eyes. Pete, the doctor for the safe zone, looked down at him without words, his face unreadable, gaze eerie. Something about the man, something in his eyes, scared Daryl and made him back further away instinctively with a mumbled 'sorry'.

"You're Daryl, right?" Pete's mouth curled in what he intended to be a friendly smile, but it was the kind of smile that sent a chill down Daryl's spine. The taller man didn't seem to notice his uneasiness and pointed at his face with his hand holding a beer bottle. "I heard about you from Rick."

Grunting, Daryl glanced aside as he had his long bangs fall over his face to hide a grimace at the other's breath smelling of alcohol. Why the hell should he let a drunk doctor examine him? There was a short, awkward silence until Aaron opened his mouth. "Well, Pete, he got injured on a run and I was wondering if you could…"

"Oh, of course, let me see," a large hand reached out and instantly Daryl took a step backward to keep his distance from the man, snarling lowly like a wild animal. "Don't need no help from some drunkard."

"Ah, don't worry, I'm not drunk. This doesn't count as alcohol according to my law." Pete chuckled to himself as if it was the funniest thing he had ever said before gesturing for Daryl. "Come with me to my office."

Without waiting for his reply, the man began to walk down the corridor as he shoved the bottle toward his wife. At this moment, all Daryl wanted to do was return to his place and crash on the couch. He shot a glare at Aaron, who was staring back at him with a concerned look. "Please, Daryl. He's a doctor, after all."

Letting out a heavy sigh, he gave in. If it hadn't been for Aaron's pleading, and if his injury hadn't been on the back side, he wouldn't have stepped into the dark corridor.

The door of the man's office was open and Daryl peered into the inside. It looked like a private infirmary, having a desk, two chairs, an old exam table, equipments and shelves groaning with books and medicines.

"Take a seat." Slumping onto an armchair, Pete offered a small smile, like he was trying to reassure the hunter, only to make him feel more on edge. Daryl worried his bottom lip as he slowly approached a chair facing the man, eyes wary.

"Where's the injury?"

"In my back. Damn walkers slammed me against an iron railing and some broken pieces dug into my shoulder."

"All right, take off your clothes and let me take a look."

Daryl had known it would come sooner or later, but that didn't make it easier to prevent him from feeling insecure and vulnerable. Drawing a deep breath, he turned around, his back to Pete as he began to remove his vest, hissing quietly at the stinging pain the movement caused. His blood soaked shirt clung to his skin and peeling it off was not a breeze. Daryl managed to tug the fabric down enough to expose one shoulder blade, careful to keep the visible area as small as possible. Not sure why, but his instincts told him not to let the man see what he had on his back, and he was a person who would rely on his intuition.

The chair made a scraping sound behind him as Pete moved closer to Daryl, who couldn't stop jumping a little. Cursing himself for being so skittish, he did his best to stay still when a hand pulled his shirt further down for a better look.

"You need stitches. Lie down on the table so you can get relaxed." The man's breath ghosted over his bare skin, creepy and disgusting. "Nah, 'm fine with sitting here. Just stitch me up already."

"Didn't your parents teach you to do what a doctor tells you?"

Daryl tensed up, his heart skipping a beat. He heard the man laughing behind him and had to fight the urge to slug him with a fist. Without warning a damp cloth was pressed against his back, making him flinch as the man wiped the blood off. "Now take your shirt off, I can't see the full extent of the damage."

Daryl's gut told him not to comply, but the rational part of him knew he should. A flush of red crept up his face as he felt embarrassed at how self-conscious he was now. Hershel had never made him feel like this, like he was so exposed and helpless, and suddenly he realized his palms were sweaty and breath was getting shorter, fear gripping his heart and throat. He knew this feeling and what was coming next. It was unavoidable and awful.

"What's wrong, Daryl?"

The voice behind him was taunting, vicious and cold. Daryl felt the cloth moving over his shoulder, leaving a wet trace on his skin like an unpleasant tongue, which made him shudder violently.

"I said take your shirt off, boy." A large hand gripped the thin fabric of his shirt, as if to try to rip it. Daryl knew this, knew the feeling of being grabbed and dragged from under the table brutally, knew what would happen next. He had to get out of here, bolt from the door and run into the woods, but he couldn't, his whole body was rigid like a brick wall, his feet glued to the floor, breath ragged.

"Didn't you learn your lesson from your dad?"

The hand touched his sweaty skin, making him wince as those fingertips traced one of thick, nasty scars on his shoulder blade, in a way that reminded him of how he had gotten that, how badly it had hurt, how his old man had touched him.

* * *

"Daryl…"

In the distance, he heard someone calling his name, a voice soft and familiar. "Daryl, stop it..."

He jolted awake, darting his wide eyes around the dark room to look for any signs of attackーfists, kicks, bottles and beltsーuntil he couldn't find any and slumped down a bit. In an attempt to catch his breath, Daryl placed his hand on his own chest. His heart was beating frantically like it was going to burst, his bandaged shoulder aching. It took a minute or two before Daryl could breathe normally again and loose his grip on the mattress. Exhaling deeply, he pressed his hand over his closed eyelids. His sweat-damp hair was sticking to his forehead and cheeks, hanging down like a dark curtain.

"A nightmare?"

At that quiet voice, Daryl lowered his hand and turned his gaze towards the man who was looking up at him with drowsy eyes, tangled up in the sheets beside him. Daryl's question must have been obvious on his face; Rick reached out slowly to take Daryl's hand on the mattress in his, thumb rubbing circles on his skin gently, eyes fixed on Daryl's. "You have a habit of biting into your finger to stifle your voice in your sleep while having a nightmare."

Despite Rick's caring tone, Daryl felt terrible about himself. He averted his eyes, staring down at the fresh bruise on the base of his thumb as he mumbled quietly. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Rick's hand kept caressing his skin in a comfortable way, though his gaze was firm on Daryl as always. "Wanna talk about it?"

Shaking his head wordlessly, Daryl slid back in bed as he leaned in to kiss him. It was cowardly of him to end the conversation in that way, but Rick let him, hand cradling his head tenderly. They touched and explored each other lazily, moaning and sighing, tongues swirling together, fingers entwining. The heat grew between them as they got lost in the kiss which turned into a deep, hungry one. When Rick turned them over and held him down on the mattress, a painful groan escaped Daryl's lips, making Rick pull away instantly. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't," _be sorry, don't stop, don't go away._ All of them were what Daryl wanted to say and couldn't say. Instead, he grabbed the back of Rick's neck and pulled him down until their mouths collided without gentleness, desperate need obvious in Daryl's eyes. Hesitantly Rick pressed himself against Daryl as he began grinding his hips down with his elbows on each side of the hunter's head, rubbing their cocks through the layers of their underclothes. It elicited a gasp of pleasure mixed with slight pain from Daryl as he broke the kiss to breathe, panting softly. He spread his legs to invite him, to get more friction, bucking up against him, crushing his lips to Rick's again.

He needed to feel Rick, needed the feeling of his touch, to blot out the memories of how the drunken quack had touched him, how his old man had pulled him out from under the table and whipped him bloody; even the Governor had shown up and pinned him up against the wall as he had strangled him, mocking and sneering. Those memories were not just a dream, they were a real experience and the feeling of their hands on his skin had been etched in his body and mind, which made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Daryl, we should stop… your shoulder," Rick whispered against Daryl's lips, concern and lust flickering in his eyes at the same time. But there was no intension of stopping in Daryl's head. He assaulted Rick's neck, biting and sucking hard as he pulled up the other's white t-shirt, hands slipping under it to rub up his lean torso. Rick groaned, couldn't stop his hips from pushing forward, though he did manage to support his own weight on his elbows so as not to crush Daryl and hurt his damaged shoulder. Daryl's lips continued on a upward path, nibbled at his jaw line and he felt the beginnings of stubble, which reminded him of the fact he was fucking a man. He had a thing about older men both in a good and bad sense, and that was pretty certifiable. Probably he kind of craved attention from them because he hadn't gotten it from his old man.

Pulling down their boxers in haste, Daryl squeezed both of their cocks that were already hard, and stroked them together, one arm wrapped around Rick's shoulders to hold him flush against him. They moaned loudly, breathing heavily, panting against each other's neck as their bodies moved in unison and rubbed against each other. Each time Rick thrust forward with vigorous force, a hot pain shot through Daryl's shoulder as hard as intense pleasure rushed over him. He couldn't help but whimper, wanted more and more, wanted to feel Rick with every fiber of his being. 

Vaguely aware of how close he was getting, Daryl released his own cock and brought Rick's to his entrance. Rick's head snapped up and he stared down at Daryl in surprise.

"Daryl..." His voice was raspy, eyes wide and worried. Daryl just nodded at him like he always did as he looked intently at the man above him. Both knew the lube was in the bedside drawer, within easy reach of them, but Daryl didn't want to waste time, or he wanted it rough, and was going to take it rough. Of course, Rick was more concerned about his injury than he himself was. "Daryl,"

"Please." Daryl cut him off, quiet but determined. It was not like Rick didn't want to give him what he desired; needless to say, wanting and begging aloud wasn't something Daryl often did. After a few moments' hesitation, Rick let the tip of his cock titillate Daryl's opening, making sure his precum moistened the rim of his hole enough to soften anticipated pain.

He took time to dip his cock slightly into the tightness and it made Daryl clench his teeth to muffle a whine. It hurt, though he knew the pain would turn into pure pleasure soon. His shoulder was throbbing as his heartbeat was getting faster, breath quickening. Then Rick pushed in further, inch by inch, until he pulled out and sank in deeper than before. Loud groans escaped both of them, their foreheads touching, heated breaths mingling.

With his elbows on the mattress, Rick's hands cupped Daryl's head, fingers tangling in the dark, silky strands of his hair as he thrust in harder, faster. He began to hit the sensitive spot inside Daryl with each thrust, which stole his breath and pulled a throaty moan from him. He bit down on the base of his thumb and deepened the bruise that had been there already. His head was dazed, burning up as hot as his whole body. The mixture of pain and pleasure was too much and he could forget everything else at that moment.

* * *

The sky was cloudy, the weather appropriate for a run. He slung his crossbow over his undamaged shoulder, stepping down from the porch, aware of the throbbing pain in his shoulder blade. It might take a bit more time to heal.

"Be careful." Turning around, he looked at Rick who was standing on the porch, in the uniform of the constable, his voice and stare firm. Daryl nodded. "Always am."

As he headed towards Aaron's house, he saw the most unwelcome man walking down the street and wobbling a bit like he was drunk. Daryl's body got tense automatically, fingers tight around the strap of his crossbow as he stopped dead.

"Hey, how's your shoulder?" The smile on Pete's face was repulsive enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Daryl's neck. He didn't answer, didn't move; he just glared at the man, eyes as sharp as gemstones as if they could cut anything approaching him. Nonetheless, Pete walked closer to him with that smile as he eyed him up and down, stooping his tall frame to put himself on eye level with Daryl in a derisive way.

"You need to come to my office and get your stitches removed." Pete gave a glance over Daryl's shoulder at someone, who Daryl was sure was Rick, before returning his gaze back towards the hunter, one side of his lips tugging up. "Did your boyfriend take care of you last night?"

In the blink of an eye, Daryl's knife was pressed into the other's throat, deep enough to make Pete throw his head back in horror. A palpable surge of rage radiated from Daryl, his eyes piercing, ferocious and feral. He didn't utter a single word, and the harder Pete struggled the deeper the knife went into the vital spot of his neck. A gasp of shock rose from the taller man, but a moment later, Daryl saw the terror in the other's gaze changing to something else. It was resentment. Irrational anger, which Daryl had seen in his old man's eyes so damn many times.

He felt a hand touching his arm and squeezing it lightly. "You don't need to do this, Daryl."

Rick's words were oddly stuck in his head until he got back from a run with Morgan and saw him shooting Pete right in the head.


End file.
